Chapter 17

Harold sat on the sofa with a blank expression. It had been a very long day at work. The reflection of the TV set could be seen in his eyes, its' images going directly from the phosphors of the screen to the cells in his retina, occipital cortex, and then on to the parietal cortex. There was no filter, no reason. This was the state that the producers had hoped for: The Totally Vulnerable state. If a commercial told you to buy, Harold would have opened his wallet and called before midnight tonight, cheerfully giving his credit card number to someone on the other end of the phone. He had had a hard day, a very hard day. He smelled of sweat. He was exhausted, not from the exertion of a physical activity but from the emotional and intellectual battle of the day. The cases had been hard. One patient in particular, had tried his best to die. The surgeons had tried their best to drain his life blood onto the floor. Harold had battled both and won. Death had been sent back to come another day. Medicine only delays the inevitable. It only alters the time frame, shifts the reason for death. It certainly cannot win when the patient can not help. Today Harold had won and the back hooded creature with a farming implement had gone back to playing chess. So Harold opened a diet soft drink and sat on the sofa, flipped on the tube, and was settling in. The screen was black, but there was a child's voice.

"Imagine being alone in a darkened room. An empty stomach that is not fed. Alone and never held. You cry and no one hears. You try to escape and can not. You are totally alone, totally helpless, floating in space. A baby should be held, loved, and comforted. A child should be responded to. But the fetus in the womb is emotionally neglected. No one cuddles, comforts, responds. The fetus is truly alone. Who hears the cries of a fetus in the womb?" Harold sat up, eyes opened. It sounded like a horrible Edgar Allen Poe story. The pit and the uterus it would be called. What a horrible thought? Who heard the cries of the unborn? What terrible emotional damage were we doing to the unborn by not responding to their emotional needs? The lady on TV had a solution. They always had a solution. Womb phone. Only $99.95 if you ordered before midnight tonight. You can listen to your baby. Comfort him when he cries. And generally bug the hell out of him. A non problem thrust onto the modern stage. Another thing to worry about. The phone rang. He clicked off the TV and answered it.

"Harold? It's George. We've got a problem."

"We've got a problem? George, you've got to leave me alone. I have worked all day and I am just sitting down. I haven't even had the time to go to the bathroom and you want me to do something." Harold walked to the john carrying the cordless phone.

"Harold. The public's reaction to the project is not so good after the morning talk show circuit. Walter and I ran a little survey to see what the public's reaction would be to the project. Harold what is that noise? Oh, well if you must. We have to do something positive. Something that would inspire people to write to their Senator and support the project. Harold! I am trying to talk to you. I know it's been a long day. How would you like to do another TV show? Discuss the project, excite some interest, push it a bit." George was sitting in his study with his feet up massaging them through dark brown fuzzy synthetic socks.

"No." Harold was not interested in the least.

"Harold you really must. It's going to die in Congress if we don't do something. I have already arranged for you to talk on Gerando. George pulled off his socks and rubbed between his toes.

"Gerando? George I refuse to talk about my sex life to get support for the project." Harold was quite emphatic.

"Harold, your sex life would definitely not help the project. I could see the title. 'Sex and Scientists, Do they?'" George knew he had the upper hand. He took out a small can of foot spray and shot at his toes. The white mist stuck to his toes and there was a sense of relief in his face both from the cooling of the burning between his toes and because he had convinced Harold.

"Thanks a lot George. So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go on Gerando and make the general viewing audience love the project."

"That can't be too difficult can it?" Harold did not feel any better. He had made it back to the sofa and had sunk even deeper into the cushion. Maybe some junk food would make him feel better.

Chapter 18

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